


Living Up To A Name (or, Trouble at the Tournament...)

by ShadowStrikeRaven



Series: Robin Hood, The life of a Legend [2]
Category: Robin Hood (Traditional)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-28
Updated: 2012-12-28
Packaged: 2017-11-22 18:41:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/612989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowStrikeRaven/pseuds/ShadowStrikeRaven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Now that Robin has got himself a name, Namely Robin of the Hood, How is he going to live up to it?<br/>When Prince John throws an Archery Tournament, Robin decides he needs to have a little fun...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It had been two weeks since the men had rescued Robin fom the clutches of the Sheriff, and Robin was impatient. His wound had, thankfully, remained free of infection, somethiing which Sophia- the healer from his village- had said must have been an act of god given all the filth in the dungeons and all of the stress he had put on it. He grimaced at the nearly healed wound, knowing it would leave an unseemly scar across his side, but, turning to look at the small clearing where they had buried three men, he figured he could be worse. At least his wound would heal. He sighed and looked down at the camp. It was clear that the men did not blame Robin, indeed, he had become even more of a hero both to these men and the peasant folk of Nottinghamshire, but he still could not shake off the feeling of guilt he felt at the death of the men. The rest of the outlaws had tried to console him, saying that they all knew the risks, they all accepted that they may not survive. They even congratulated him on his shooting abilities and the fact that he bought down over twenty guards, saving many of their lives. This had been the final straw for Robin, and he told them firmly that he wanted no praise or any other form of consolation, he wanted only to have a few days to think for himself. He had since then, been left alone. Even Little John ad Will had kept their distance, only speaking to him at mealtimes. He could not escape the looks of respect directed at him, however, nor the reverant looks that passed his way when the men thought he was looking elsewhere. Robin sighed and jumped from his perch on the lower bough of a tree. He landed on the ground in a crouch, happy to find that his side barely twinged at the strain, and thankful that the wound had not been too deep. He lifted his shirt, and was relieved to find that the clean cotton that bandaged the wound were still in place. He took a deep breath and walked over to John, trying to ignore the way men got out of his way, wondering what the expression on most faces was, aside from respect and warmth. He reached John, who was gathering firewood on the outskirts of the camp, and bent down to pick up a stick that had fallen from his arms. He grinned up at him.   
"Need a hand?" It was time for him to get on with things. He couldnt sit and mope forever. He saw a grin on Johns face,   
"About time," he replied, leaving Robin to wonder whether he was referring to someone helping out, or Robin joining in.

John grinned as he saw Robin practising his archery. Since Robin had started to get involved with things again, the game they were playing had become a near nightly pass-time. He grinned as he saw Will throw another target out into the open, and could not help but laugh as he heard Wills groan of frustration as Robin shot it down. The game was simple. Three or four men made targets from clumps of moss, and threw them from behind trees or bushes. Robin had to shoot them down before they touched the ground. At first, the men had thought it would be a good idea to try moving throughout the trees, throwing from different places and trying to catch him out, but Robins slightly uncanny ability to sense where they were soon had them changing tactics. Three weeks later and they just stood there throwing the things hoping for a lucky miss. John joined in the clapping as Robin plucked two from the air in a matter of seconds then whooped as he fired two arrows, both hitting their targets. John glanced around the group and grinned at the intense concentration on their faces as they watched Robin. He turned back to watch the game.

Robin sighed as he flung his bow down next to where he slept. He had been happy to have his own returned to him after the fight and had immediately celebrated by shooting an apple from Johns hand as he went to eat it. He grinned at the shocked glare that had been directed at him, followed by an unwilling smile. He wouldnt have bothered if he had known it would lead to countless nights of what he considered pointless showing off. John had called over to him,   
"Oi, if you can hit that, then you should try this." He had thrown a small twig into the air, and Robin had hit it in the centre, shattering the brittle wood. One thing had led to another and now he was enttertainment every evening. He sighed, at least it made him useful. Sure he helped around camp, but nothing he did seemed to be useful, as in everything he did was monotonous. He wanted action, something to do aside fom hunting and gatheing firewood. He grasped the bow as he flung himself to the floor beside it. He never stopped marvelling at the intricate markings on the wood. The bow had been his fathers. It had been delivered in the night many years ago by a hooded stranger, who then vanished. Robin found himself wishing once again, that he knew the identity of his father, or at least that he remembered something about him.   
"Curse it", he murmured to himself, "I need to stop wasting my time on idle fantasies. And on pointless games. If only the men could shoot as well as me then maybe I could... I could..." He froze, If the men could shoot as well as he could then they would be able to hunt better, protect themselves better. Robin grinned as an idea washed over him. He got to his feet and ran to the campfire that everyone was sitting around.

He waited for Arthur to finish telling a childhood story, he had stayed in Sherwood because they were unsure if the Sheriff had seen his face. The other men had managed to keep their hoods up, so had no such trouble... the ones who were alive anyway. Robins mood fell, but his spirits raised when he realised what story Arthur was telling. He laughed as he remembered the time that they had both, foolishly, challenged a fox to the rights of a rabbit. Whilst he and Arthur had been focused on the fox, the rabbit had used sense and ran. He waited for the story to finish and cleared his throat, unnerved when everyone immediately stopped talking and turned to face him. This awestruck thing was going to get very tirsome. However, he took advantage of it and asked the group their thoughts. The positive feedback was reassuring, but also fairly alarming. He grinned however, as John managed to shut them all up. Robin laughed at the irritated expression on his face.   
"Whats up John?" he asked.   
"You know what this means," John growled back, turning to Joseph, the groups current lead figure. "Hunting trips are going to either soar, with everyone eager to practise or fall because everyone will be too busy hanging on his every word." He snorted good naturedly. "Archery lessons indeed."


	2. Let the Game Begin...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robin's bored streak is ended when He joins an Archery Competition, along with John and a new friend, Hunter. Can he beat he Sheriff and the other competitors?  
> And win a kiss from Maid Marion? (Not that he is interested in that...)

Robin grinned as Hunter shot an arrow into a target, spearing the centre. The two had become friends in the last two weeks, as Robin had been teaching the men to shoot. Several had really stood out, and of those, Robin had got to know three, Hunter, Matthew, who they all called Matt, and Christopher, which they all shortened to Chris. He had also got to know two men called Nick and Joseph, though he preferred to be called Joey. He got on well with the others, but they had all become particularly good friends, especially as all of them, aside from Chris, were under twenty, with Chris being twenty six. Robin also assumed that it was because they all treated him normally, and not like some kind of God sent Messiah. He sighed and called that the lesson was over. He strolled over to John, who was grinning at him.  
"What are you laughing at?" Robin grumbled.  
"Oh, just the fact that you get annoyed so easily..." He smirked. "Anyway, aren't you going to ask me how it went?" John had left yesterday morning, with Will, Chris and another, older outlaw, called Jase. The plan had been for them to find out what had happened in Nottingham during the last few weeks, since their escapade in the town. Robin sighed,  
"Fine. How'd it go?" He started to grin, "Find anything out about our mutual friend? How is the good Sheriff?" Robins annoyance had disappeared by the time John had finished telling him everything.  
"Well," he started, "First thing we noticed was that you seem to have become a hero. Someone has been sticking up copies of that message you left. And drawings of you. Someone is a pretty good artist, they were a brilliant likeness..." he seemed to travel somewhere in his mind "Yeah..." he said, in a detatched kind of way "It was a good likeness." He jumped as Chris lay a hand on his shoulder, laughing.  
"You telling him what we found?" he asked and pulled a sheet of paper from his waist pouch. He held it out to Robin, "Dont unfold it yet, Will wants to see." He called Will over, "Hey, Will. Robins about to look at it!"  
Robin was confused as they both burst out laughing, John joining in as Robin sent him a questioning look. He looked at the parchment and, unable to wait any longer, he unfolded it. He froze. It was a picture of him... but not him. He looked like he did when he looked in the mirror a few weeks ago. Heroic... defiant... and surrounded in a halo of light! He glared at the paper, then at the men who were laughing at his expression.  
"John..." he said, in a dangerously calm voice. "Do you know who drew these? I am so fed up with being treated as a bloody Messiah..."  
John tried to look serious, and failed.  
"We have a few leads, but we couldn't find him." He burst into laughter, and Will filled in.  
"Sorry, we couldnt resist. Your face is brilliant..." He handed him another slip of parchment. "We got you this too. Might make up for it." Robin took the parchment and quickly scanned it... then read it more closely. His spirits soared.  
He turned to Will and the othes, who had gathered round, John, Chris, Hunter, Nick, Joey and Matt.  
"So," he laughed, "How do we sign up?" 

Two weeks later, Robin, John, Chris, Hunter and Matt were all stood in a shooting range in Nottingham. They had spent the last week or so preparing for the archery contest. They each had disguises and were looking forward to causing mayhem. They signed in, with a guard who looked as though he would rather be elsewhere. They had no trouble giving in their names, saying they were a group of Nobles sons, travelling the country. Robin had changed the colour of his hair using a mixture of ash and oils, whilst leaving short bristles on his chin. Just these simple changes helped change his entire look. The others were likewise disguised, but they were sure that they were not well enough known to arouse suspiscion. Will, Nick and Joey preferred to be at the sidelines, seeing as they were not very good with a bow, at least, not good enough to stand any chance of winning. Though there was no chance of that when Robin was competing. They had taken up positions in the crowd, in case they needed to make a quick getaway. Robin glanced over at them as he took his place in the crowd of men waiting to shoot. He had been given the number 73, surprising him, as he did not realise so many would be competing. Then he recalled the prize. A Golden arrow and a kiss from the fair Maid Marian. Rumour had it that Prince John himself was trying to win her hand... Robin did not particularly care, he was just here to make a fool out of the Sheriff, seeing as he was meant to be competing. Sure enough, The Sheriff stepped out to take his shot. Robin had never seen him shoot before and was surprised when he shot a direct bullseye. Gradually, the crowd thinnened as the greater majority of them either hit the outer rings on the target or missed it all together. John managed to hit the bullseye on the rim, the others managed to hit the Bullseye aswell, then it was Robins turn. His arrow hit dead centre, and a roar erupted from the crowd. He was the last of the 89 contenders to make it through to the next rounds. Three rounds later, with the target being moved further away each time, and only ten people were left, including Robin, the Sheriff and Hunter. Two rounds later and the number was knocked down to three, Robin, the Sheriff and another young man, a guard by the looks of it. Robin had become aware that he was attracting the attention of a great many people, and his skills were being described as being 'as good as the hood' he glanced at the others as the Sheriff stood to take his next shot, glad to see that they were keepng an eye on things, He shrugged his shoulders, asking them what he should do. They turned to each other, Mumbling, then turned back. Hunter mimed smashing and Robin grinned, nodding. Fine. Finish it and smash his competition. He turned and walked to take his next shot.

It was the final. Only Robin and the Sheriff were left, and the winner was the one who managed to hit the bullseye the most with the ten arrows, and if they wanted to risk it, the most stylsh way of doing it. The Sheriff had hit the Bullseye with all but one of his arrows, but which still landed just outside the black centre, but he had done some pretty good tricks. Robin stepped up. With the first three arrows, he showed a few different things, Shooting whilst his back was turned, shooting blindfolded and some such, but he knew he had to do something over the top if he was going to win. He grabbed five arrows and got ready to carry out the trick he had been practising in the forest for the last week and a half. John had only seen it once, but the others had not seen it, only knowing that he was working on something new. He turned to John, mouthing the words,  
"Shall I?" John knew the risks. Robin had only been able to do it twice, and had only perfected it two days ago, but he nodded, a grin on his face.  
Robin dropped to one knee and placed the arrows by his side. He head the crowd star to mumble with renewed interest. He notched an arrow and felt confidence spill through him. He could do this. He released the arrow, into the air. The fired another. The second arrow hit the first, sending it into the bullseye. He fired a third, hitting the second and doing the same thing. He fired the fourth and fifth, the pattern repeating. He drew a sixth, hitting the fifth, sending it into the centre of the target, and spinning in the air, heading back to him. He snagged from the air and fired it again, hitting the bullseye. The last arrow, he fired normally, and finished the letter on the board, a capitol H. It could mean a lot of things, but he meant it to stand for Hood. He heard the crowd burst into screams and applause, and saw the men stare at him, amazed. Even John was surprised, and he had seen it before. He turned, his grin falling from his face as he saw suspision in the Sheriffs eyes, and the eyes of several of the guards.  
He decided on the risky approach, walking up to the Sheriff and holding his hand out, not meeting his eyes.  
"Good match," he said, in a slightly lower tone than his normal voice, and shook hands with the Sheriff.  
"Good match," he agreed unwillingly, then turned Robins attention to the raised Dais. "You seemed to have caught the attention of our beloved Prince John, not to mention the eye of the fair Maid Marion..." he told him. Robin gasped.  
"The Prince?" he asked, and panic filled him. If he was found out now... He saw the men running towards him and excused himself. "My apologies, My lord Sheriff, My brothers of the road seem rather excited."  
He was glad to see the Sheriffs suspiscious state ease a little as he heard himself addressed as lord.  
"Very well, I think you had better meet them then. Oh, one last thing," he said as Robin turned to walk away, "What is your name lad?" Robin bowed his head.  
"Robert sir," he replied and turned away. Only to be greeted by a group of men falling onto him, nearly pushing him to the floor.


End file.
